Scotch-proof.

A few months ago, I was in a room full of my closest friends talking about whatever it is guys talk about when left with little sleep and Heineken, and as we talked and gestured, I closed my eyes and blacked out. When I woke up, I heard this.

“God, I have’t been this drunk in years.”
“Yeah, me either.”
“You know, it’s so wierd to think about when your parents finally offered you alcohol instead of you having to steal it.”
“Yeah…like at Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah. My mom would pass around butterscotch.”
“What?”
” I know, right? I mean, it doesn’t have a lot of scotch, but it’s still weird.”